Force (The Disciples #5) Read Online Cassandra Robbins

Categories Genre: Biker, Dark, Erotic, MC, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Disciples Series by Cassandra Robbins
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Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
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Taking another deep breath, I push all thoughts of my dad aside and look around. It seems harmless enough. I mean, come on, there are trees, grass, and a large house looming ahead.

I turn right and slowly drive onto the property, the new tires crunching on the gravel. The smell of dirt filters in through the vents. My eyes shift to the rearview mirror and back. I feel like a crazy person. Gia assured me I’d be safe, but I can’t stop my imagination from taking over.

Frantically, I look around for bikers with guns drawn, ready to shoot me because I’m on their property in this giant, horrible BMW.

Instead, all I see is a dirt road along with dew on the grass reminding me it’s early morning.

“You watch too many movies. Everything is fine,” I whisper, taking in the fact that this property seems huge. One side is open and you can see the house, while the other has a ton of trees… which could definitely hide a car, body, me.

“Stop it.” I exhale, slam on the brakes, and lean my head back on the leather headrest. This is absurd behavior, and encompasses everything I’m not. I pride myself on never judging anyone or anything. It’s the way I am, probably because I grew up with my whole family judging everybody.

But that’s not me.

Plus, Axel invited me. Well, he kind of demanded I come and get his sister out of his room, but whatever, I’m expected. Maybe not this early, but hey, I’m a morning person and, let’s be honest, I want to get this over with.

I groan into my hands, unable to shake the feeling that something is definitely about to happen.

Something big. And maybe not good. Being out of control is not my strong suit. Also, I’m a terrible liar.

I want to strangle Gia. This is all her fault. She knows I don’t do well in this sort of situation. And yeah, I might be a little bit of a rule follower but look at what happens if you’re not.

You end up like Gia. I mean, I love her. She’s my best friend, and I supported her even knowing her plan was a bad idea.

Who jumps on a plane, lies to get on tour with one of the biggest bands in the world, and then seduces the lead singer? Great. I feel like a horrible friend because that was harsh, but I’m stressed. And what’s worse is that I told her this was happening, that she needed to get out. But did she listen? No.

Now she’s locked up in her brother’s room, refusing to come out because her heart is broken. She put herself out there, and it slapped her in the face. I drop my hands with a thud on the buttery soft seat and stare up at the ceiling of the car.

Poor Gia. Thank God that will never be me.

Falling in love is overrated, in my opinion. I’ve zero interest in it. I don’t believe in soulmates, and I don’t believe in marriage. We’re not supposed to be monogamous as a species. Look at our history—hunters and gatherers, for example. You think they had one mate?

No.

I also don’t want kids. I’m basically a loner. Besides Gia, I have no other friends.

My therapist says it’s because of my parents, but I think it’s me. Before Gia came around, friendships were fleeting and rather ugly. Most of the time, school was cruel. Multiply all of it with the fact that I’m smart and my dad is who he is. I hated it. Couldn’t wait to graduate, so I could get as far away from my family as they would allow.

Wow, my brain is all over the place. I get like this in extremely stressful situations.

I need to meditate, like get out of this car and get myself together before I rescue my only friend.

Clearing my throat, I slowly drive the Beamer onto the pine needles to get off the dirt road. After putting it in park, I jerk the visor down to look at myself.

“Perfect. You look terrified,” I grumble at my reflection in the rectangle mirror and lean forward to rub the slight smear of mascara from under my right eye. Grabbing my purse, I search for some lipstick. I need something bold, maybe plum? At least that will make the blue in my eyes pop. I yank down my messy bun. The one thing I do like about me is my hair. It’s long and thick with the right amount of curl. Before I left New York, my stylist put a gloss on it and added some honey-colored strands throughout. My real hair color is almost platinum. But again, I hate that fragile look. I want to be fierce. I should have dyed it black, but I thought my dad would freak and lock me up, so I just had her add some golden highlights; it’s as daring as I got.


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